


hello, i'm here! (i'm living in the walls)

by MayoNassey



Category: HLVRAI - Fandom, Half-Life, Half-Life VR But The AI Is Self Aware
Genre: Crossover, Gen, Half-Life 2, Half-Life VR But the AI is Self-Aware, Sentient AI, Technology, Virtual Reality, what if you wanted to play a vr game but god said yo these fellas real
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-18 08:55:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29607015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MayoNassey/pseuds/MayoNassey
Summary: The game had been completed, and the weight of the final message hung heavy in the Player's mind. He took a break from his games to process the things he had experienced during his adventure.But the game was not done with him just yet.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 26





	1. 1 - prologue

The date is April 28th.

The midnight rain pounds in sheets against the walls of a small apartment. Floor 4, room 19. This apartment almost feels like its exploding from the very sound crashing against it, but luckily, there is no one home tonight to witness it. A thick, rolling breath of wind scrapes alongside the windows, as the peeling plastic around the frames threatens to spit water onto the beige, stained carpets.

The room is dark, and the shades are open, as a cloudy beam of moonlight stares down from the upper left, as if it was leaning in to look further into this mundane living room. This apartment, one might think, does not scream ‘adventurous’. There are no implements for sports, or hiking or skiing. Yet, there are… irregularities. Coats had found themselves draped over chairs, shoes that seemed unworn for many months, had been left worn near the door in mismatched piles, kicked carelessly away. The dishes were clean, but the countertops were messy.

The rain does not find this as interesting, beating fists against the window again. It almost screams to be let in, growling and snarling outside. 

Inside, however, it is muffled, and oppressing. The bathrooms of this apartment were untouched from the previous alterations applied to them. A reddish-brick-beige countertop with cream coloured accents. One tube of toothpaste-- and no toothbrush. No hairbrush either, leaving a flower pot surrounded by lingering hairs to be a very strange sight. 

That might have been lightning. Or maybe just something outside breaking apart.

There is one room in this apartment that is more important than the rest of them. A master bedroom designed for two, pared down to accommodate for one. A single frameless twin bed is tucked beside an unused sliding door window, too small of a balcony to be worth making room for. There's a small bookshelf shoved against the corner, a lamp on top of one of the shelves to act as a bedside light. Knick knacks adorn it: pop figurines, little pieces of memorabilia, switch cartridges. 

Then there is a desk squirrelled away against another wall, dancing a precarious tango with wires and cables. Extension cords reach out across the room, zip-tied to various areas to keep them far out of harm's way, and off of the copious amount of floor space. A used black cord reaches up towards the ceiling, and plugs into a curved glass box. An idle light is on, showing that it has power-- and is connected to its sibling across the room. The two trackers stare down at the floor, still and waiting. 

On this desk were a few things. A monitor, nothing too fancy, but nothing to laugh at either. A sleek and sturdy keyboard designed for gameplay, a PC with glowing components. 

Perhaps most importantly, however, was a small figurine,  
Of Gordon Freeman.

Crowbar aloft, he held his pose as the moonlight that he bathed in was warped by the wetness of the rain on the window. The light dances across every surface it can reach.

It dances across a headset, which had remained untouched for a short span of time.

The time is now 12 am.

And the date is now April 29th.

It has been ten days since Gordon Freeman escaped from Black Mesa.  
It has been ten days since our Player has completed the video game.

And frankly, its growing rather impatient. 

Thunder rolled outside as something nudged the mouse upon the table, rousing the computer from its sleep. A stiff breeze would have done it, as long as it registered movement from some source. As the LEDs in the PC activated, calibrating in colour with one another, the light on the base of the monitor flipped from red to a green, indicating that it was on.

But a few moments later, the LED had changed to a cyan shade. In fact, so did the colours spinning in the PC.

The PC began to purr as it idled.   
Then, it began to think harder. It began to whirr and buzz as the fans kicked into a higher caliber, as something had demanded it to. Some accidental process, some mistake, some error. The monitor did not light up as it turned on, holding the backlit darkness to itself as it thought more and more.

And then something very strange happens. 

As the tracking stations in the corners of the room light up that very same cyan hue, they begin detecting movement inside of the room. They sense that something attuned to them must be tracked in order for that tech to work properly. And so, it tracks something in this empty room that we cannot see.

For there is a hand reaching from the screen.

A hand bathed entirely in darkness, void-like mist and wisps peeling off of it as it touches the keyboard, the mist from its fingertips dipping deep between the cracks of the keys. 

And this hand stretches unnaturally, as something is pulled from the screen. Something more than just a hand. Something that we cannot see. Something that only a machine can.

The light dances on an empty room. 

But through the eyes of the headset, resting on the shelf,

We see a misty, voidlike silhouette, hands square at its side, head turning ever so slowly as to analyze the room. His eye catches the headset, and the headset catches the single bright, cyan eye.

This entity is standing here, now, in the digital space of the Player’s room.

The G-Man is waiting for him to come back home.


	2. 2 - Rise and Shine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wade wakes up at his friend's house after sleeping over.

“Rise n’ shine, lumpy. Yer stinkin up my couch.”

Wade Fielder woke up at 9:15 AM.

The first thing that Wade does is rub feverishly at his eyes, attempting to massage away the last bits of haphazard sleep, and the beginnings of a small headache, before it gets too bad. He shifts around, rolling onto his side and propping himself up with a heavy elbow, stabbing down into the well-worn leather couch that he was sleeping on. It squeaks, as leather couches are ought to do, as he paws randomly around himself in order to find his glasses. Touching the corner of the glass, he swipes them from off the floor, slipping them onto his face.

The living room that Wade was sleeping in was rather homely. For starters, this old, well-worn leather couch had lightened from a dark bronze hue, to a cracked and dusty beige from years of use. The blanket that clung to his legs was a clammy felt texture, with a gaudy design of a few basset hounds posing for the camera printed upon it. The coffee table nearby had a glass surface, which was covered with so many cork mats, you could barely tell it was a glass table. There were old magazines from the early 90s on the shelf under it.

Shuffling in from the upstairs, however, was one of two inhabitants of this house. Most of the homely, rustic, wood grained and thrift shopped decor belonged to him. Thinking about it, Wade has never really seen anything in this house that belonged to the other inhabitant. It must mean that the taste in furniture is so immaculate, there’s no point in adding to it. Wade, of course, is thinking this sarcastically.

Boot socks thunked down carpeted stairs, a pair of black canvas pants tucked into the cuffs. White shirt with a small black logo in the corner half-tucked into the pants. A security company.

Barney Calhoun paused for a moment at the base of the stairs, looking between the kitchen and Wade’s half-asleep state. Wade was, too, torn between looking at Barney by craning his head all the way backwards, or by sitting up and looking at him normally. Before he could fix his position, though, Barney had shuffled off into the kitchen, where Wade had begun to realize the sound of something frying in a pan.

And the smell of meat. Alright, alright. He’s up. 

Wade stands from his half-prone position on the couch, having slept in his jeans. He peels the blanket from off of his legs, a few bits of static electricity proving how stubborn and strange the blanket itself was. He holds it up as to fold it, staring into the eyes of the felted basset hounds. Why are they so sad? Who made these dogs so sad. He folds the blanket pondering the nature of the basset hound. 

Though, as he’s placing the blanket back at the foot of the couch, he finds his phone on the coffee table, lit up with a notification. He does a quick once-over of the couch to ensure nothings out of place, before picking up his phone, and checking the ping.

A security alert. Evidently, someone has logged into his Gmail account.

And his Twitter.

And his Facebook.

“Wade, c’mon. I made us some breakfast. Can’t stick ‘round forever, though, got an afternoon shift today.”

Barney’s call from the kitchen drew Wade away from his concern at his accounts. Right. He came here to distance himself from technology. Technology and the worries that go along with it. And he’s not about to fret during a lovely breakfast with his lovely host.

Slipping the phone into his back pocket, a smile spread across his stubbled face, a hand reaching up to scratch his cheek. He slipped sideways into the chair without pulling it out too far from the table, beaming down at the food that Barney had quickly prepared for him.

It was a very simple meal. Scrambled eggs, slightly charred. Leftover meatloaf, and fried potatoes. Very hearty, very simple, and went with a bottle of ketchup that had been placed on the table for this very occasion. And Wade looked very pleased.

Barney, elbows on the table and mouth already chewing away at some food, noticed Wade’s hesitation. And expression, too.

“You sleep good, Wade? Seem ‘lil spacey there. D’ya need some pepper?”

He looks up from his plate, sort of automatically grabbing the fork as Barney calls attention to his behaviour. He also reaches for the ketchup, just kinda holding it beside him.

“Oh-- Yeah, I’m fine. I did, like, JUST wake up, but I also…” He’s holding one fork and one ketchup. One thing at a time, idiot.

“--I just really appreciate the food man. Seriously, I know I keep buggin’ you, but I’m just thankful you’re like, cool with it.” He pops open the ketchup, squirting a puddle on the side for dipping.

Barney smiles and shakes his head, stabbing a stack of eggs, then meatloaf, then a little shard of potato onto his fork, pre-drizzled with ketchup. “Wade, ‘course I’m gonna cook for ya. ‘S the polite thing to do when you have a guest over. Imagine wakin’ up to nothin’ but some dry, milkless cereal.”

“I don’t have to imagine very hard, Barnes.”

“Then you need to be more hospitable t’wards yourself, bud.” 

Barney’s tirade was halted by him eating another bite. Halfway through, he spoke again.

“‘Sides.” He swallows. “You’re my friend, and you’re always welcome in my home. As long as ya don’t move in, at which point I’m gonna start askin’ for rent. With the way you sleep on that couch though-?” He points his fork at the used couch, now tidied up. “Startin’ t’ have my suspicions.”

At that, Wade rolls his eyes, scooping bits of egg sideways onto his fork. He kinda cheats a little and uses his finger.

“I’m not moving in. Not only does your roommate creep me out, but you-” Now it’s Wade’s turn to point his fork. “-Your hellish sleep schedule would keep my lightly sleeping ass awake.”

“Oh, c’mon now. You know my workin’ schedule is as hectic as all hell. Hardly my own fault.” Barney had finished his food far quicker than Wade had-- he had a job to do at the local mall. 

See, Barney was a security guard. His job brought him to different places around town, ordering him to stand with a flashlight and make sure that no random teens snuck into whatever place he was standing in front of that night. More often than not, though, his job would have him standing guard in a few spots of a rather large mall in town, be it during open hours or closed. It was one of them fancy malls that had a few minor carnival rides right in the middle. Sometimes he was tasked with making sure no one broke into those. Sometimes it was the jewelry stores. But today, Barney doesn’t know. But what he does know, is that he’ll be standin’ in front of it.

“That’s no excuse. You’re loud as hell sometimes, you know that?” Wade fully knows that its a completely reasonable excuse. Both of them do.

“I’m startin’ to think maybe I oughta rescind that Southern Hospitality I’ve been showin’ you as of late,” Barney teases, rinsing off his plate and putting it aside for later washing. “Criticizing my sleepin’ right in my own home. Some people might take that as a full on crime, you know that?”

“It's a good thing you don’t have a stick up your ass then.” Wade pauses as he watches Barney at the sink. “Don’t worry about the dishes, I’ll cycle them once you leave.”

Barney smiled as he turned away from the sink, walking over to the vest he has draped over a chair, slipping it on casually, zipping up the front. “Alright, fine, you’ve earned the right to today's hospitality. T’morrow, though? Ehhhhh…”

“Hah.” Said Wade, scooping up the last bits of his own breakfast. “Don’t worry, I’ll be out of your hair for a lil bit. Been all comforted and shit. Though, you feel free to come hang out at my place, though. I can return the favour.”

On goes the navy blue jacket, and a baseball cap. “You seem real social as of late. Any particular reason? Mean, we haven’t hung out this often since college. Not sayin’ it’s a bad thing, love the company, just… wond’rin’ why?” He squints a little, tilting his head a little bit. All that’s left on his uniform was to put on his boots, which were by the door, and Wade was not also by the door. So he will stand here until it’s time to go.

Wade is silent for a moment, looking away. Specifically, looking at his phone.

“You know like, when you play a video game or watch a movie that like… really makes you appreciate shit?”

Barney shrugs a nod.

“Something like that. Gotta make sure my real life team is doing ok, you know?”

Barney then rolls his eyes with half a shake of his head. “You’re a real empath, you know that? Gettin’ all emotional over your video games. If the story was that good, though, glad you liked it.” He makes his way to the door, putting his shoes on, lacing them up.

“I gotta head off. You just let yourself out when you want to, don’t worry ‘bout lockin’ up.”

“Seeya, Barnes.”

Barney gives him one last smile and half a wave, before slipping away out the front door. Outside, he gets into his car, parked in the space in front of the houses’ garage, and heads off to work. Wade’s car was parked beside the curb, out of the way of the driveway.

Now the house was quiet, only noisy with the sounds of rinsing dishes. Wade casually did the chores he promised Barney-- putting away his dishes, putting the dirty ones back in. It was the least he could do for his friend’s kindness. Seriously, he appreciated it so much.

Wade’s phone buzzed again, having been silent throughout their breakfast. Slipping a rubber glove off, he checked his phone, now free to indulge in his technology.

Great. Now his Instagram has been accessed too. He doesn’t even use Instagram. He wonders if there's been a server leak for these companies, if everyone's passwords have been spilled out. 

So he checks. He types in ‘Instagram password leak.’

Nothing much comes up.

‘Facebook account leak’  
‘Twitter account hack’  
‘Stolen accounts third party’

...And yet, nothing.

This is unsettling. He’d glad he ignored it for this long, but... 

He finishes up the dishes, putting a new hand-towel in place of the one he used to dry a few wet bowls and plates. He grabs his jacket, which contains his keys.

He had better get home and figure this out.


End file.
